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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26606704">sweet spot</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork'>simplyclockwork</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>oh captain, my captain [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Job, Brief anal penetration with a finger, Captain John Watson, Come Swallowing, Counter Sex, Deepthroating, Definitely not Food Safe, Don't use the jam at 221B, Food Sex, Jam is used for purposes other than spreading on toast, Johnlock - Freeform, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Teasing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:28:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26606704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and his Captain find a creative use for jam.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>oh captain, my captain [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740022</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sweet spot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Finally wrote another installment of Johnlock filth ft. Captain John Watson.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Recovering enough to leave the bathroom on shaky, coltish legs, John sending him on his way with a playful tap on his bum, Sherlock stumbles into the kitchen. He feels sated, weightless, like his feet might just drift off the floor, body buoyed by the sheer amount of endorphins buzzing through his veins. He leans against the sink and looks out the window with unseeing eyes, lids heavy and half-mast. A delicious lassitude seeps through his body, turning his limbs loose. Clad in nothing but his blue silk robe, Sherlock shimmies up onto the edge of the counter with a playful little dip of his hips.</p><p>Toast pops out of the toaster near his elbow, and he sets to spreading jam over the slice. His movements are slow and dreamy, a pleasant ache filling his body. It is a lovely reminder, a perfect echo of luscious morning sex, and Sherlock curls his toes as he flicks his tongue over the edge of the butter knife. The sugary taste of raspberry jam creeps over his palate, and he closes his eyes with a sigh, head tilting as the shower shuts off in the bathroom. Sherlock keeps his eyes closed, listening to the door open, followed by John’s steady tread on the hardwood. </p><p>Three days. He’s only had John for three full days, barely the beginning of a fourth, and already the sound of his footsteps reminds Sherlock of home. </p><p>The sentimental turn of his thoughts ceases. All coherent musings scatter at the sight of John with a towel set low on his hips, body slick and glistening. His short, cropped hair, rakishly mussed, makes Sherlock swallow, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. He aches to touch, fingers twitching against the handle of the butter knife, still held inches from his open mouth. He wants to run his nails over John’s scalp, feel the damp cling of hair on his fingertips, sweep down to the warm expanse of John’s nape and his broad, muscled shoulders.</p><p>As if reading his thoughts, John crosses the kitchen in a quick, confident stride, stopping only when his hands hit the counter on either side of Sherlock. Sherlock blinks down at him, and John smirks. His hand shifts, palm cupping the curve of Sherlock’s arse where it rests on the counter, his thumb smoothing a slow, teasing circle over the silky material of Sherlock’s robe. </p><p>“Making breakfast?” he asks, voice rough, already growing husky. The sound of it travels straight to Sherlock’s groin, sending an electric shiver through his body, making his lips part further with a noisy sigh. His cock gives an interested twitch, perking up despite the earth-shattering orgasm barely half an hour ago. He’s had more sex with John over the past few days than he’s had in an entire year, and, instead of satisfying, it only makes Sherlock want more. He breathes out a soft huff as John continues smoothing his thumb over Sherlock’s thigh through blue silk.</p><p>Swallowing, Sherlock manages a strained, “Toast.” The unsteady cadence of his voice makes John’s smirk widen. It shifts into something fierce and ferine, John’s pupils blowing wide, turning his expression ravenous. Sherlock shivers again. He pops a piece of toast into his mouth, trying not to choke when one of John’s hands drifts to his leg, fingers teasing over the skin where his robe is hiked up and trapped between his thigh and the counter. One of John’s brows flicks upward, and his eyes darken, blue irises nearly consumed by the black of his arousal, fingertips tracing spidery patterns over the boundary of skin and silk. </p><p>“Jam?” John reaches up, thumb brushing over Sherlock’s bottom lip, smearing sticky along the sensitive skin. Throat tight, Sherlock swallows the toast and opens his mouth with an audible breath, John’s thumb lingering just beneath his lip.</p><p>“Raspberry,” he husks, eyes fixed on John’s mouth. John drags his thumb down to Sherlock’s chin, pulling his lip down slightly, before popping the thumb into his own mouth. Lips closed, his cheeks hollow, and his eyes squint shut with a low, rumbling hum. Sherlock feels the vibration of it, his knees pressed against John’s chest, and he watches John’s lips part, tongue swirling around the tip of his thumb. He imagines his finger in its place, the soft, wet feel of John’s mouth against his fingerprint, the press of tongue over his knuckle. A full-body shiver ripples over Sherlock’s skin, and his unsteady breathing shifts toward a pant. </p><p>John’s eyes flutter open, dart over Sherlock’s face and widen before narrowing. The hand on Sherlock’s leg slides higher, fingertips brushing along the warm crease of Sherlock’s thigh. His legs part instinctively, and John huffs a quiet, pleased sound, his fingers spreading, palm gliding over skin that ripples with goosebumps in response. “No pants?” He peers up at Sherlock from under his lashes, tongue pressing to the corner of his mouth. “Naughty boy.” </p><p>The words make Sherlock quiver, a thrill rushing through him, and his hips jerk forward without permission. John grins, teeth dropping against his bottom lip as his eyes flicker down to the obvious and growing arousal beneath Sherlock’s robe. He groans, the sound breathless, hungry, and grips Sherlock’s thigh in a rough grope. </p><p>Staring down at him, feeling his face flushing hot with want, Sherlock drops his toast and the butter knife. They land next to the sink, ignored. He fumbles over the counter until his hand finds the jam jar, still open, the lid knocked onto the floor by Sherlock’s clumsy grabbing. Holding John’s covetous gaze, he slips his index finger over the edge of the jar, tracing the glass rim before dipping into the sticky contents. The jam is thick and viscous, coating his finger as he draws it out. John, still gripping Sherlock’s thigh, fastens his other hand against Sherlock’s hip, eyes locked on the jam-smeared finger between them. </p><p>Before Sherlock extends the offer, he pauses, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as sudden hesitance surges through him. But John just huffs a soft growl and tilts forward to press his lips against the tip of Sherlock’s finger. Just a touch, close-mouthed and shockingly chaste, just enough to shake Sherlock out of his mind and banish his second-thoughts. </p><p>He nudges lightly, feeling the topography of John’s lips through the jam, and John opens for him. His finger slides into heat and warm, wet, welcoming sensation, and Sherlock can’t help the little groan that drifts from deep in his chest. John’s tongue slides along the ridge of his fingerprint, teasing sensitive skin, flicking down to the underside of Sherlock’s second knuckle. The contact is a catalyst, setting his body alight. He groans again as John closes his lips around Sherlock’s finger and sucks, swirls his tongue and shuts his eyes with a bone-deep hum.</p><p>“Mmm,” John murmurs, and Sherlock feels the vibration through his finger, in his hand, and his eyelids flutter, a hoarse moan escaping his suddenly dry mouth. John’s eyes flicker open. The corner of his mouth curves upward, tongue dragging down Sherlock’s finger. His gaze drops to Sherlock’s lap, linger, then rise slowly over his body and back to his face. “Delicious,” he sighs, taking Sherlock’s knuckle gently between his teeth. The touch, hard contrasting with the soft heat of John’s tongue, the inside of his cheek, makes Sherlock’s skin tingle. A quiet, strangled noise rises from low in his throat. </p><p>Breathless, Sherlock shakily slips his finger from John’s mouth, groaning at the slow drag of teeth over his knuckle, and scoops another dollop of jam onto his fingertip. It’s terribly unsanitary, using the same finger that was just in John’s mouth, but Sherlock can’t be bothered to care. Food safety is the furthest thing from his mind. He would willingly defile an entire restaurant with bodily fluids if it meant getting John’s mouth on him again. </p><p>John’s eyes follow Sherlock’s finger, brow quirking as Sherlock stares at his mouth before slowly dragging the sticky, sweet substance over his own bottom lip. John’s pupils widen, something Sherlock would have thought impossible without the evidence before him. Sighing out a pant that fades into a needy growl, John surges up to grip Sherlock’s nape, hand tightening on Sherlock’s waist as he draws his head down. The action is forceful, aggressive, but John’s mouth is gentle. Reverent as his tongue tugs Sherlock’s bottom lip toward John’s teeth, catching and groaning against Sherlock’s wanton, exhaled moan. </p><p>“Do it again,” John whispers against his lips, ducking his head to nuzzle at the underside of Sherlock’s jaw. “God, I could <em> devour you.”  </em></p><p>“Not stopping you,” Sherlock gasps, angling his chin up to give John room to explore. Teeth grip and nip at the skin over his throat, and he shudders, goosebumps breaking out over his skin. Making soft little sounds to the rhythm of John’s bites, Sherlock smears jam on the side of his neck, John chasing it with his mouth. His tongue lathes over the offering. Flicks light and teasing before his lips suction to Sherlock’s flesh, cheeks hollowing as John suckles and rumbles a pleased growl. </p><p>When the skin begins to throb, a miniature replica of Sherlock’s racing pulse, John softens his lips and flicks his tongue over the forming bruise. The sensation makes Sherlock jolt, his hips kicking forward again before John’s hand tightens on his thigh to hold him in place. A frustrated little puff of air escapes Sherlock’s lips, his cock twitching with need, leaking a dark shadow onto the fabric of his robe. John’s eyes drop to the damp spot, and his lips curl into a smirk that, if Sherlock were standing, would have made his knees go weak. </p><p>As it is, he shivers and shimmies his hips on the counter, twisting to bump the side of his aching erection against John’s knuckles. John grunts at the contact while Sherlock keens, feeling the hair stand up all over his body, vibrating with desire. </p><p>Instead of attending to Sherlock’s growing tension, John lifts his head to nuzzle and mouth at the other side of his neck. He sucks a matching bruise into the skin, making Sherlock hiss and whimper, hips straining against John’s hand, desperate with the need to rut. The silk of his robe is not enough, merely a whisper of friction at the top of his leaking cock. Sherlock groans raggedly, setting aside the jam to tear at the loose tie holding his robe shut.</p><p>John captures his hand, turning to press his lips to the palm, his eyes dark and gleaming when they meet Sherlock’s. Sherlock huffs out a grumble, whining, <em> “John,” </em> through parted lips. </p><p>“We’re not finished breakfast yet,” he murmurs, and Sherlock’s breath hitches, tension melting away as John presses into him, mouthing over the ridge of his throat. “And I’m not finished with <em> this.” </em>John traces the flat of his tongue along the pulsing path of Sherlock’s carotid artery. “Mm, I could spend a lifetime worshipping your neck, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.” Breathless, he drags down to the hollow of Sherlock’s throat and laps into the dip with slow, devoted flicks of his tongue. Worrying the skin gently between his front teeth, John grabs the jar of jam and pushes it into Sherlock’s hand, flitting restlessly over John’s shoulders. Head lifting, he nudges Sherlock’s cheek with his nose to maneuver his face downward, licking languidly past Sherlock’s lips. The tip of his tongue drifts along his teeth, over his cheek, making Sherlock squirm and whimper. His eyes roll back as John sucks on his tongue, dizzy with the bliss of it, aching for friction and aggression and release. He rolls his hips up against John’s firm grip and growls deep in his chest, but John only chuckles. </p><p>He presses the jar harder into Sherlock’s grip, breaking the kiss to trace Sherlock’s sharp jawline with his lips and tongue. His teeth catch and tug at Sherlock’s earlobe, inspiring a gasp as he whispers, “Show me, beautiful. Show me where you want my mouth.” John breathes a high little sigh, mouthing at the warm skin beneath Sherlock’s ear. “I want to taste you <em> everywhere.”  </em></p><p>Skin shivering at the words, Sherlock rushes to comply, nearly dropping the jar in his eager haste. John chuckles again, a rough sound against Sherlock’s shoulder, and Sherlock grits his teeth to force his hand to cooperate. He manages to get his finger inside, moving to smear jam over his collar bone. He draws a sloppy line of sticky red that John traces with his mouth, humming in satisfaction as his tongue cleans the offering from Sherlock’s flushed skin. </p><p>John’s hungry mouth and the hot slide of his lips over Sherlock’s musculature spurs Sherlock on. He dabs jam on his suprasternal notch, where the robe has fallen open, leading John lower, guiding him over to a peaked nipple. Sherlock’s finger circles the beaded flesh, head falling back in a groan as the humid heat of John’s mouth closes over his target. His tongue darts out and flicks, rolling Sherlock’s nipple over the tip before tugging gently with puckered lips. Sherlock’s body jerks and twitches, his cock tapping against his stomach with a surge of excitement. The brief contact makes him gasp, and he pushes against John’s hand again, groaning long and low when John flicks out his fingers to brush the tip of Sherlock’s dribbling cockhead. </p><p>“Yes, yes, John, <em> please,” </em> he grits out through his teeth, growling into John’s mouth when John leans up to muffle his demands with a hard, searing kiss. “Touch me, <em> touch me.” </em>Sherlock wriggles and fusses, trying to hold onto his irritation. But it melts beneath John’s lips, the brush and sweep of his tongue, his fingers kneading into the long muscle of Sherlock’s thigh. The second John releases his mouth, Sherlock swipes jam over his other nipple. He groans and arches his chest into the slide of John’s lips as they close over the erect flesh. A ragged chant of, “Touch me, touch me, touch me,” flows from his lips, hips rutting in little aborted thrusts beneath John’s firm grip. </p><p>John follows the natural line of Sherlock’s sternum, tonguing over and between the jutting ridges of his ribs, leaving teeth marks and light bruises in his wake. Vibrating with strain, Sherlock drops the jam jar onto the counter and begins tearing at the robe’s ties again. This time, when John catches his hands, he pins them to the counter at Sherlock’s sides. He cocks a brow and smirks, amused by Sherlock’s furious expression.</p><p>“I swear to <em>god</em>, John, if you don’t—” the words die off in a choke as John drops his face into Sherlock’s stomach. Sherlock goes still and taut, air hissing through his clenched teeth in surprise that quickly shifts into a flash of destitute longing, body flushing with heat. He feels John’s nose on his belly through the silken fabric, and his hips, finally freed, shimmy frantically forward. </p><p>John’s teeth catch in the robe, scraping skin beneath slippery material, and lock onto the belt with a growl. Shivering at the sound, Sherlock breathes out a whine, eyes rolling back as John attacks the knot with his teeth. He tugs and jerks his head to the side, getting the loose twist open, leaning away to pull the belt from its loops. </p><p>It flutters down to the floor, wrinkled from John’s assault, and Sherlock barely has the chance to suck in a gasp before John pounces. </p><p>Legs bending, hands landing on Sherlock’s thighs and pushing them open, John descends on him with a snarl. His mouth latches onto the inside of Sherlock’s thigh, sucking and licking his way toward his groin, each wet, open-mouthed kiss making Sherlock wail and writhe. He forces his legs wider at a guiding push from John’s hands on his knees, panting out a lewd sound as his head falls back. </p><p>John’s nose drifts along the dip of his groin, hands sliding up to grip Sherlock’s hips, his thumbs massaging into the femoral triangle framing Sherlock’s aching arousal. His chin bumps against the shaft of Sherlock’s cock as it jerks in response to John’s lips closing over the skin beneath his navel. The brief brush makes Sherlock cry out and thrust forward, seeking friction, John’s mouth, something, <em> anything </em>to settle his spiking lust. </p><p>Just as he begins to whimper, John tilts his head back, shooting Sherlock a blazing, hungry look from beneath his lashes. The sight makes Sherlock freeze, his lips popping open in a jagged whine as longing floods through him. Holding his gaze, John scrapes his teeth over Sherlock’s skin, working his way lower.</p><p>Sherlock can feel John’s breath on his cock, hot and damp and promising ecstasy. He thinks he might go mad and nearly screams when John rockets to his feet and pulls Sherlock’s face down to his. He keens his fervour into John’s mouth, swallowing down the needy sound John makes in return. John’s cock rubs against his knee, and Sherlock kicks his hips forward, pleading against John’s lips. Begging him to rut, to take them both in hand, to let Sherlock wrap his legs around John’s waist and thrust against him until they’re both lost. </p><p>Steadfast and ruthlessly focused, John sucks Sherlock’s upper lip into his mouth. He traces along the inside with his tongue, taking his time, breathing adoration with every exhale. His hands freed, Sherlock twists his fingers in John’s short hair, growling at the cropped strands, cut too close for him to get a firm grip. He settles for digging his nails into John’s nape and wrapping his legs around John’s torso with his ankles hooked together at the small of John’s back. </p><p>Their tongues roll and slide together, Sherlock’s hips driving forward every time John nips at his lips. </p><p>Finally, <em> finally</em>, his cock slides against John’s skin, drawing a slick line of precum over his ribs, and Sherlock throws his head back with a helpless cry. He rolls his hips once, twice, three times and once more, chasing friction, not caring that it is a rough grind. John breaks Sherlock’s grip on his next thrust, dropping to a squat as he seizes Sherlock by the thighs. With one hard pull, he tugs Sherlock to the edge of the counter, one leg landing over John’s shoulder before John swallows Sherlock’s throbbing cock down in one movement. </p><p>“Oh my <em>god</em>,” Sherlock shouts, head falling back and hands grabbing wildly for the counter to keep from sliding onto John as his body goes slack with shock. Before he can recover, John pulls back, nearly lets Sherlock’s cock slip from his lips, and plunges back down. His nose meets the base of Sherlock’s cock, sinking into coarse hair, and Sherlock’s entire body jumps. His eyes roll up and back, head hanging loose on his shoulders, putty in John’s skilled mouth. </p><p>The flat of John’s tongue curls around his shaft, moving from root to tip before swiping over the leaking slit. John growls at the taste, the vibrations travelling down Sherlock’s cock and into his body, making him moan. The sound draws out, rises, shifts into something suspiciously close to a howl before Sherlock manages to press a hand over his mouth.</p><p>Pulling back, John slips his mouth off of Sherlock’s shaft with a wet <em>pop</em>, nearly making Sherlock sob at the sight of his cock resting against John’s swollen bottom lip. </p><p>“Don’t you dare,” John growls, reaching up to pull Sherlock’s hand away from his mouth. “I want to hear you.” When he speaks, his lips move, brushing tickling, teasing sensation at the sensitive tip of Sherlock’s cock, and Sherlock pants a little wordless plea. To his relief, John smirks, shapes his spit-wet lips into an <em> O</em>, and drops his mouth slowly down Sherlock’s length. He draws it out, agonizingly gradual inches disappearing past his lips, making Sherlock vibrate with the effort of holding himself back. He aches and struggles not to thrust.</p><p>John’s lips meet the root of Sherlock’s cock again, and Sherlock’s sweaty palms slip on the counter. John’s hands catch him by the hips, circling down and around to grip his arse cheeks and hold him in place. His fingers press and knead into tender muscle, and Sherlock slumps back, nearly clipping his head on the cupboard. He arches his back, his neck, his entire body bowing from the point where John’s mouth engulfs him in heat and ecstasy and perfect suction. </p><p>The tip of John’s tongue dances over his slit and along the corona, and Sherlock can’t help the little roll of his hips. John hums, his eyes half-open and fixed on Sherlock’s face when Sherlock manages to raise his head. The view is stunning, his cock disappearing between John’s stretched lips. It makes Sherlock whimper, the sound rising rough and unsteady from his chest, escaping from his own parted lips as his hips roll again. His cock pushes deeper, and John closes his eyes with rapture as Sherlock feels the vulnerable give at the back of John’s throat. </p><p>John swallows before hollowing his cheeks, and Sherlock loses his mind, collapsing back against the counter. His thoughts grind to a halt as he loses himself in his body, giving himself over to the pleasure setting him alight. </p><p>One of John’s arms cradles the back of Sherlock’s spread thighs, levering Sherlock’s hips upward as John curves over him and deepthroats his straining cock. Enveloped in tight, sucking heat, Sherlock closes his eyes and shivers, feeling his bollocks hanging heavy beneath his cock. </p><p>His eyes fly open when John palms them, rolling his scrotum in his palm, stroking and squeezing with gentle pressure, just enough to pull Sherlock back from the edge. He whimpers and writhes and scrabbles his sweat-slick palms over the counter, babbling nonsense. His mind flicks offline, empty of coherent thought, hips twitching up with every slide of John’s tongue, every tight swallow that squeezes Sherlock at the back of John’s throat. </p><p>Still cupping Sherlock’s bollocks, John skates his fingertips over Sherlock’s perineum, pressing, massaging. The sensation is like a lightning bolt, and one of Sherlock’s legs kicks out, nearly slipping onto the floor. John catches it and drapes both legs over his shoulders, pressing forward. He growls deep in his chest and makes Sherlock quiver and gargle out a string of garbled supplications. John’s name repeats several times, Sherlock’s voice rising as his bollocks draw up, body tightening, his climax rushing upon him like an oncoming train. It is inevitable, impossible to stop, surely life-altering—</p><p>John’s finger circles his hole. He rubs and works his way inside where Sherlock is still loose and damp with John’s cum from earlier, and Sherlock orgasms with a shout, his entire body arcing off the counter. The tension pulls him taut, makes his belly quiver, his fingers spasm on the countertop before he is spilling down John’s throat. His eyes close and open with lashes fluttering. John’s finger, pushed into Sherlock to the second knuckle, sends shivery pleasure through him, a sharp contrast to the supernova burst of his climax. </p><p>It feels endless, euphoria spilling through his body in rolling waves. The aftershocks shiver through his limbs, and John swallows once, then again, coaxing every last drop of Sherlock’s release down his throat.</p><p>By the time Sherlock finally comes back to earth, John is leaning over him, panting hot against his jaw. With his legs still hooked over John’s shoulders, Sherlock’s thighs are beginning to ache, but he is too shattered to move. He can only blink up at John, who is breathing almost as loud as he is, his face flushed. His cock, rock hard and dark red with arousal, drips pearly dribbles onto Sherlock’s stomach, and Sherlock groans. His tongue flicks out, aching to taste, to return the favour. He wants the salty drag of John’s cock in his mouth, wants to swallow him down like the first taste of water after days of dehydration. </p><p>John’s hand closes around his own cock, Sherlock’s softened and spurting one last line of cum into his own pubic hair. He watches John squeeze, the tendons flexing in his forearm, muscles rippling with control. His towel has long since disappeared, abandoned when Sherlock was too lost in his head to notice.</p><p>When he reaches for John’s cock, John catches his hand and brings it to his lips. He kisses Sherlock’s palm, pressing his lips over his lifelines, eyes locked with Sherlock’s.</p><p>“I have to go,” he says softly, and Sherlock stiffens, frigid shock washing over him. But John shakes his head, dragging his tongue over the heel of Sherlock’s hand. “Just for a few hours. I have to confirm my travel for tomorrow with the local army office.” He brushes his lips down to Sherlock’s wrist, mouthing at the delicate blue veins beneath the skin. “But, when I’m back…” his eyes sharpen and go dark as he leans over Sherlock, dragging his tongue through a line of semen with a breathy groan. “When I’m back, it’s my turn.”</p>
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